


On Requiring Rooms and Chocolate Squid

by junko



Series: Strawberrry Fields Forever [9]
Category: Bleach, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 11:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichigo is hot on the heels of the misty form of You-Know-Who when he stumbles into the Room of Requirement and ends up at Urahara Shoten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Requiring Rooms and Chocolate Squid

Ichigo hunted for the black cloud that’d come out of Quirrell. Unfortunately, after getting his own body hijacked, Ichigo didn’t feel like he could abandon it to dash around Hogwarts in soul form--which sucked because that meant he didn’t have shunpō and everyone could see him. Thus, he was currently dodging Filch. Luckily, the caretaker had only seen the back of Ichigo’s head and was shouting that he’d send the Wealsey twins to detention if he ever caught up with him. 

Just ahead, something slipped under a door at the end of the hall on the forbidden third floor. Ichigo wrenched open the door and found a gigantic, snarling nue—no, wasn’t a chimera, it was some kind of three-headed dog-monster. He shut the door just as the slobbering beast lunged for him.

Crap! Ichigo was sure the phantom had come this way. How could he get past the demon? If only he could transform! Maybe there was a back door. He’d have to find it on the run, because Ichigo could hear Filch muttering to himself as he came up the stairs, “No respect,” he was saying between huffing breaths. “Constantly truant… I’ll get you brats one of these days!”

Ichigo hesitated just long enough that Filch spotted him. “You!” he cried, suddenly recognizing Ichigo. “Oi, Hufflepuffs aren’t supposed to be rule breakers! Diligence and hard work! Don’t you know your own motto?”

“Sorry, no English,” Ichigo lied, playing up his accent, as he took off at a run. 

Being taunted must have given Filch a second wind. Suddenly, the caretaker was hot on Ichigo’s heels, as he skidded around the corner. Ichigo was thinking how desperately he needed an escape or a place to hide when he spotted a door he’d never seen before. He pulled it open and stepped through—

\--only to fall ten feet and tumble into the dusty ‘floor’ of the cavernous training space under Urahara Shoten. 

The store’s ‘basement’ always reminded Ichigo of a postcard Yuzu had gotten from a pen pal in America of the deserts of Arizona. There were huge rocky outcroppings and what seemed like miles and miles of empty space. Everything was a golden-rusty sand color, and a dry, pale blue sky stretched overhead. Magically… because somewhere up there was a shop full of candy no one bought and a really strange guy with a fondness for striped bucket hats and ancient wooden samurai clogs, who Ichigo sometimes, when he was feeling particularly insane, thought of as his mentor, Kisuke Urahara.

“Ah, my, my, if it isn’t our dear Mr. Kurosaki!” came the drawing, sing-song voice of Hat-and-Clogs himself. “I see you finally required the room!” 

Ichigo’s poor brain almost couldn’t parse the sound of his native language. So he blinked stupidly as Urahara strode past him to balance on the tips of his wooden sandals and use the edge of his cane to nudge the doors closed. The doors seemed to hang open in the sky before, but now they disappeared entirely. 

Urahara turned around a beamed a decidedly goofy, unnatural grin at where Ichigo slowly picked himself up of the ground. The crazy shopkeeper was dressed as he normally was: in dark green shirt and pants that looked like pajamas or maybe a karate gi, over which he’d thrown a billowing, long sleeved black coat with white diamond-shapes along the bottom edge. And, of course, he wore the ever present green-and-white striped hat that cast his sharp gray eyes in a dark shadow. Bits of untidy, shoulder-length straw-colored hair poked out from under the hat, further hiding his face. Ichigo figured Urahara must be a thousand years old, possibly literally, but he sort of looked like a perpetual college kid or wannabe hipster, an appearance he seemed to cultivate with the beginnings of a funky soul patch sprouting on his pointed chin.

Urahara skillfully caught a bit of Ichigo’s Hogwart’s robe with the tip of his cane. “Almost looks like a captain’s haori. Hmmm, frighteningly appealing on you, actually,” he noted, and then stepped forward to lift his hat enough to peer at the crest over Ichigo’s heart. “Hufflepuff? Really? Oh dear, I’m going to owe Yoruichi nearly eight thousand yen and a night out on the town.” Somehow a fan appeared in Urahara’s other hand to smack the side of Ichigo’s head. “Didn’t that stupid sorting hat see Zangestsu in there? I was sure his personality would tip the scale.”

“Uh,” Ichigo said, rubbing the side of his head absently. The stinging slap of the wooden fan’s edge brought up a disturbing wave of nostalgia that washed warmly over Ichigo’s heart. How wrong was it that being smacked up side the head by a crazy shinigami made him feel instantly at home? “Am I really here?”

“Oh my, well, it’s awfully early in the morning to get so existential, don’t you think, Mr. Kurosaki? Maybe we should have a spot of tea before we discuss the absurd nature of the universe.”

Ichigo couldn’t stop the huge smile from breaking out on his face. “Tea? You mean like real tea?”

“Hmmm, I was considering slipping you a little Veritaserum, but I suppose we could have oolong first.”

Ichigo nodded. It was utterly impossible to tell when Urahara was being serious, though Ichigo suspected that any time the shopkeeper threatened violence or morally dubious scientific experiments it was a safe bet to consider he was. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers, Ichigo followed Urahara as they made their way to the ladder that seemed to come out of nowhere. 

In no time, Ichigo was sitting cross-legged on tatami with a cup of something that actually smelled like tea was supposed to warming his hands. Urahara sat across a low table from him, smiling patiently, holding a mug of coffee with the words, “If we knew what we were doing, it wouldn’t be called ‘research’” in printed in English on the side. The backrooms of the shoten were hushed with the sounds of the other usual residents’ snores. Outside the window, muted electrical lights reflected on a cloudy night sky.

After taking a sip of the tea, Ichigo let out a long, satisfied sigh. “I think I’m in love with you a little bit.”

The fan snapped open and fluttered in front of Urahara’s face girlishly. “You’re welcome,” he said seriously. He peered out over the curve of the fan, “Apparently, what you required was a trip home in the pre-dawn hours just to flatter me. Do you need a snack? I have a packet of Ika, if you’re craving chocolate-covered squid?” At Ichigo’s enthusiastic nod, Urahara pulled said pack out of the fold of his gi. With a tisk of his tongue as though disappointed to have to part with a personal favorite, he slid it across the table, “I’m surprised our dear Professor Dumbledore isn’t taking better care of you.”

Ichigo snorted, digging into the squid. “Does he have decent tea or sushi? I’ll bet he’s never even heard of Okonomiyaki Drops. ”

“Oh, he most assuredly has. Cabbage flavor is his favorite,” Urahara said, the fan disappearing to wherever it went when it wasn’t a weapon or a shield. “Dumbledore-sensei’s weakness for candy is legendary. He’s one of my best customers, actually.”

Ichigo frowned. “So he cursed me on purpose this morning?”

“I’m sorry?”

“At breakfast, that old fart stuck the chopsticks straight up in my rice bowl,” Ichigo explained. He set his cup down and used his hands to mime the offending image. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, and shook his head, “Damn! I should have guessed that sneaky bastard knew what he was doing all along! And now my wand is shattered and I still have no idea how to control…” Ichigo trailed off. 

Even though Urahara was probably directly responsible for the Hollow-like side of Ichigo, he was reluctant to bring it up—embarrassed by how much control the Other had of him lately. That thought brought up the crazy cackle that always seemed to linger at the edges of Ichigo’s consciousness… or sanity.

Of course, nothing slipped past Urahara, “Control what, exactly?”

“Stuff,” Ichigo muttered petulantly, not meeting Urahara’s far-too penetrating gaze.

“I see,” Urahara said, taking a sip of his coffee. “I believe I’m beginning to get a clearer picture of what exactly you required when you stumbled in here. And it wasn’t my Ika.”

Ichigo’s shoulders relaxed slightly. He hazarded a glance at Urahara. Holding on to his hat as though he thought it might slip off his head, Urahara tipped back his head and swallowed the remains of his coffee in one long gulp. He slammed it down on the table with a loud clunk.

“Unfortunately,” the shopkeeper said, standing up, and reaching a long-boned finger out to pinch one of the candies from where Ichigo had laid some on the table. He popped it into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “This is one thing of the few things I can’t teach you. I do, however, have some contacts with those who can. The trouble is… well, let’s just say we have some trust issues between us. I’ll have to strategize on how to procure their involvement in such way that they ultimately think it was all their idea.”

Sounded like business as usual at Urahara Shoten to Ichigo. 

“All right,” Urahara said, the fan coming out to tap against his lower lip as he began to pace. “In the meantime, go back to school, Mr. Kurosaki,” he stopped to gesture at Ichigo with his cane, and Ichigo could feel the veiled threat of the zanpaktō hidden inside the wood jab at him. “Yoruichi tells me you’ve been avoiding detention with Professor Dumbledore. No more. Go and tell him everything.”

With the powerful reistsu of Benihime pressing down on him, all Ichigo could do was swallow the candy he’d been chewing nervously and nod his head. “Yeah, okay.”

#

 

Urahara gave Ichigo an armload of candy to take back to Hogwart’s. Ichigo remembered to ask for a couple of Green Tea Milk Kit Kats for Karin. He stuffed his goodies into his courier bag, and then they both made their way back to the always sunshiny underground base. “You’re like Dr. Evil, without the frickin’ lasers,” Ichigo remarked.

Urahara smiled. “Who needs lasers when you have Getsuga Tenshō?”

It took Urahara less than ten minutes to weave a complicated spell full of chants with words like "the veil between the worlds" and "princess of demons" that caused the doors to reappear over their heads. With a boost from the shopkeeper, Ichigo managed to pull himself up. He crawled out onto the floor of the hallway in Hogwart’s castle. Before shutting the door, he stuck his head back through, “How do I get back here if I need to?”

“Well, if you need to you will. It all depends on what you really require,” Urahara said as if that explained anything.

Ichigo swore under his breath, “Seriously, Hat-and-Clogs, enough with the riddles. You’re the worst Zen master ever. So help me out here a little. Door: how do I get to it?”

Urahara held on to his hat again as he looked up at Ichigo. With a sigh, he said, “Magic, kidō, spiritual energy, whatever you want to call it, dear boy. It’s called the Room of Requirement for a reason. Now that you’ve found it once, it will be easier to conjure again, but there’s no guarantee that I’ll be what you need next time. In fact, I highly suspect that what you’ll next need are these colleagues of mine that I spoke of. Just trust that wherever the door takes you it’s the right place at the right time.”

“This is completely whack, you know,” Ichigo muttered, closing the door.

“Go see Dumbledore,” Ichigo could hear Urahara shout as the locks clicked into place and the wall seemed to swallow the doorway. “Oh, and try sherbet lemon!”

WTF? Lemon, what? Was that a secret code or a random recommendation for British food? But the door had already disappeared and apparently Ichigo didn’t ‘require’ knowing what the hell Urahara was talking about because he couldn’t find it to open it up again. 

#

Ichigo was still thinking about how much he hated British magic and how cold and miserably drafty the castle was when he found himself standing in front of where Cedric Diggory had told him the headmaster’s office was suppose to be. He’d had to trade an “Every Burger” for the information and now Ichigo was pretty sure Diggory-san had ripped him off. Because, instead of a door nicely labeled “headmaster” or something helpful like that, there was a statue of a wicked looking demon/Hollow thing, which seemed to be snarling at him. 

Ichigo looked around for a clue. 

After three minutes of not finding one, he wished he could pop into spirit form and carve the stupid statue up with Zangetsu. “Shit,” he sighed shaking his head. What kind of headmaster insisted on detention, but then doesn’t have a normal office to show up to? “Stupid Hat-and-Clogs. Damn Dumbledore. Lemon sherbet. Room of Requirement. It’s all insane. Fuck me.”

Suddenly, the statue moved with a grinding, rock sliding over rock, sound. A spiral staircase appeared and Ichigo decided to hop on. He slid a hand into his pocket though, and wrapped his hand around the Substitute Soul Reaper pendant just in case.

The stairs deposited him in front of a forbidding set of doors. He knocked. Though the wood, he heard a muffled, but cheery, “Enter!”

Automatically, Ichigo kicked off his shoes and left them in the hall. Then, he turned the knob and stepped through cautiously. 

“I see the gargoyle responds to Japanese! How wonderful,” Dumbledore said, as he came down a set bookcase lined stairs, to take Ichigo’s hand and shake it. “Though I’m afraid my own command of your fine language is a bit rusty, so, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer we’d speak in English without all the colorful oaths from now on out, all right?”

“Uh,” Ichigo didn’t even remember having said anything to the professor in color or otherwise, “Yeah, whatever.”

“Come in, come in,” Dumbledore was staying as he led Ichigo up a curved stairs. The portraits on the wall peered curiously at him as he passed. He couldn’t stop himself from giving them a rude gesture.

Though his back was to Ichigo, Dumbledore said, “That’s not quite as popular here as it is back home, though I’m sure they get your drift.”

Having dealt with Urahara, it didn’t even faze Ichigo that Dumbledore somehow had seen what he was doing. “Why are they looking at me like that?”

“Because none of them has seen a shinigami before,” Dumbledore explained pleasantly. 

“Well, they still haven’t,” Ichigo said, as they reached the top of the stairs. “I’m human. The shinigami thing is a part-time gig.” He pointed to his nose, “Substitute shinigami.”

Dumbledore turned around to seat himself behind a large desk, and he glanced at Ichigo over the rim of his half-moon glasses. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Ichigo said. Even though there was a chair nearby, he didn’t take it. When you were called to the headmaster’s office; you stood. He did, however, stand with attitude. “I’m pretty sure I need to be dead to be a soul reaper.”

“And you’re absolutely certain you’ve never died?”

Ichigo frowned. Well, Byakuya had almost killed him, severing his soul chain and whatever all with his fancy, couldn’t-see-it-the-first-time move. Then, Urahara had sort of pushed him over the rest of the way when Tessai and the Shoten gang did their crazy ‘training’ that seemed to involve dumping him in a pit and turning him into a half-Hollow. But, had he actually died? Ichigo rubbed the back of his head. “Do you know something I don’t, sir?”

Dumbledore smiled in that same sort of goofy-almost-fake way Urahara had, and waved his hand as if to dismiss the seriousness of the question. “Oh, no, no, I was just wondering how you could be so sure.”

Huh. He couldn’t really. No one stood over him and said, “he’s dead, Jim,” or called time of death or anything so obvious. His soul had been separated from his body so much that it hardly felt like anything monumental anymore—it was just like putting on a pair of jeans in the morning or dropping them to the floor at night. Maybe he died a little each time. Or, perhaps, one of those times he’d felt like he was falling down an endless pit he’d randomly crossed over without even realizing it.

A shiver crawled up his spine.

_What’ca worried about, King? Dead is strong. A corpse feels no pain._

“Your Defense Against Dark Arts teacher has a tag-along,” Ichigo said, hoping that a violent change of subject might banish the creepy feeling under his skin, “A second soul with no form, but a whole boatload of reistsu. I thought it was a Hollow at first, but it’s too smart. I think it’s just an asshole.”

“What?”

“You know, a jerk,” Ichigo explained with a shrug. “A pain in the ass. Oh, maybe a ‘wanker’?”

“Yes, Ichigo, that part I understood,” Dumbledore said severely. “I was asking about the other bit, what came before all the expressive adjectives.”

“Professor Quirrell,” Ichigo said, feeling like he was going over something he’d already explained clearly. “I was going to ask him a question about… uh, the assignment, and he got all weird and then somehow got between me and this,” Ichigo pulled the Substitute Soul Reaper pendant from his pocket and showed it to the headmaster, “and I pushed whatever was in him into me, and, you know, came out the other side.”

Dumbledore frowned, his white bushy eyebrows knitting together. “You pushed Quirinus into your body?”

Quirinus? Was professor Dumbledore and Quirrell-sensei that close? No, Ichigo reminded himself, they were just British. Everyone was casually acquainted here. 

“No,” Ichigo said with a sigh. “Not him. His second soul. The extra. The Other.”

“He has two souls? How is that possible?”

Ichigo shrugged. He had three, but mostly they all stayed with him. “I have no idea, okay? But, you wizards fracture your souls an awful lot, in my opinion. Some of it goes to the wand, some in your familiar, and gods know where else… if you ask me, it’s not healthy. Not at all. None of you guys are going to make to the Soul Society. Too broken. This whole country is going to end up Hollows or ghosts or tortured souls. Anyway, I guess I just figure got a shard of Quirrell-sensei by accident.”

“Fractured souls? Hmmm, that reminds me of someone,” Dumbledore said, pulling on his beard. 

_Yeah, like everyone?_ Ichigo thought but didn’t say. He waited for the professor to say more, but he seemed to be looking through the notes on his desk for something. Ichigo stood there long enough that he started shifting from foot to foot, and had to suppress a deep yawn. Finally, Dumbledore seemed to notice him again.

“Shouldn’t you be at dinner, young man?”

“Right,” Ichigo said, turning to go. But, then he stopped, remembering the package Urahara had given him. He dug through his courier bag until he found it, “I’m supposed to tell you Urahara Kisuke wants you to have some ‘Suplitol Tongkat Ali Gum’ and some jellyfish caramels on the house.”

“Oh,” Dumbledore smiled, his eyes crinkling. “I do love my jellyfish caramels. But what’s this other?”

Ichigo had to swallow his smile. “Uh, well, Urahara says, ‘try it, you’ll like it.” 

Ichigo couldn’t quite bring himself to tell the professor that they were candies designed to increase penis size. Or so the packaging proclaimed in bright green lettering. It was hard enough to hand them over with a straight face. Urahara had a perverted sense of humor, but who knew if Dumbledore shared it? Ichigo didn’t really want to be the one to find out.

“Oh, well, any recommendation from Kisuke is worth a try!”

“Yeah,” Ichigo agreed. “Enjoy.”

**Author's Note:**

> The candies are all real.
> 
> Also, I sort of wish this were taking place in the year that Mad Eye Moody is the DADA teacher because I really wanted to call this chapter/installment "Constant Truancy!" because, just like at home in Japan, Ichigo is NEVER in class.


End file.
